


Across Time and Space, We Fall Apart

by Huehxolotl



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, But it's mostly pain, Gen, Lyshtola if you squint, Not spoilery but takes place after 5.0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huehxolotl/pseuds/Huehxolotl
Summary: Lyse may not know a lot of things, but the pain of losing loved ones and being left behind? She's had enough of that to fill a lifetime or three.At least this time, she has a chance to say goodbye.Or, Y'shtola discovers the damage silence can do to a friendship she once thought unbreakable.





	Across Time and Space, We Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> My one question for Shadowbringers is WHERE IS LYSE. No mention of her anywhere except an observation by WoL. It hurts my soul to see her forgotten, so now you get to suffer too.
> 
> (BUT you do get to see her for a bit on the monk 80 job quest, so at least we get that small bone)

“I take it you’re fully healed now.”

Lyse slows as she walks out of the corridor leading to the temple. Ren is leaning against the wall, arms folded and watching her with a faint smile.

“No, but I’m in better condition than _you_.”

Ren shrugs, but doesn’t deny it. Her friend, the Warrior of Light herself, looks less like a warrior of legend, and more like how _she_ felt, after Ala Mhigo. After the battle with the fake Zenos. Today.

Tired. Worn thin.

“You went through a lot over there, didn’t you?” She has so many questions she wants to ask, _needs_ to ask, but she can only settle for that one. Ren stands tall, preparing herself for a story, but loses composure when she shakes her head. “Don’t. I’m sure you’ve had to repeat yourself a million times by now, and I know there’s only so much anyone wants to talk about that sort of thing. Have you even rested? You’re going to fall over if you don’t! Speaking from experience.”

Ren is startled, green eyes widening as she blinks and steps back. Then, she laughs. It’s soft, almost relieved, her chuckling; the kind one gives when they’ve not had enough to smile about in far too long. “You sound like Y’shtola.”

Her heart stops and races all at once. Y’shtola. She had visited her friends, well, their bodies, once. Being barred from the battlefield after the whole Zenos ordeal, she had decided to take a trip to the Rising Stones. Seeing the Scions so still, so peaceful, yet knowing that they may never wake from that condition, had only made her feel worse.

And stepping into that place after all this time, she had felt like an...intruder. No matter how excited the others were to see her, there was something strange and disconcerting about being back there. The Rising Stones had never really been home to her; not like the Waking Sands had been.

“Is. ...Is she okay?” she asks hesitantly.

“Well. Yeah.” Ren frowns at her. “Didn’t they tell you? I’ve sent several updates.”

Oh, that hurts. “In case you forgot, I’m not a Scion anymore. I heard that you traveled to the First and was on the hunt for the others, but I’m afraid that’s all. ...I’ve been out on the front line more often than not, anyhow.”

All that time, waiting, hoping, _praying_ to hear more. In between paperwork and the war, it’s hard to find time to speak to anyone that isn’t a soldier or a leader of some sort. Getting personal messages out there, even ones from the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, is near impossible. That’s what she told herself, anyway, as the days came and went and no messages arrived. No news is good news, she would chant when her mind raced and anxiety would get the better of her. No news is good news, as she razed through Garlean soldiers, desperate to ensure there was a home for the Scions to even return to.

Her friends were out there fighting. Maybe _suffering_.

And she couldn’t do a thing to help them, no matter how much she yearned to be at their side.

But clearly, they hadn’t had the same worries.

“...There were some...risky moments. I can tell you about-”

Holding up her hand, she stops Ren once again. “ _No stories_.”

“...She is well. Better than, to be honest.”

“I can live with that for now. Get some rest, hero. Commander’s orders. I leave in a couple days, but if I catch you before then, I’d like to hear more. No, in fact, you had _better_ stay at least that long! I’m sure the monks won’t mind having you around.”

Ushering Ren away is one of the hardest things she has ever done, but she had made her choice. The life of the Scions was not hers any longer.

Not that she had any right to be there in the first place.

She doesn’t regret it, she _doesn’t_. Everything she has here in the Reach is enough. _This_ is her path, her place. It’s enough to know they’re out there, safe, doing what heroes do.

_So why does her heart ache so?_

**~The First~**

“There you are. I take it there was no pressing emergency in the Source?”

Ren reports in the negative. All is as they were last told. The Alliance holds fast, and the Scions continue their work. It’s heartening news. Though they know that comparatively little time has passed on the Source since their kidnapping, the work they left unfinished is still cause for concern.

“It seems you have traveled much since the battle. Perhaps you ought to rest for a change.”

 _That_ , if nothing, earns her a rueful laugh. “Lyse ordered me to enjoy a nice, _relaxing_ few days at the Reach. Who was I to deny her? She convinced the new monks to relocate there, and I wasn't going to turn down the promised sparring.”

Lyse? It’s impossible to hide her interest at the mention of her comrade and friend. It seems a lifetime ago that they last spoke. In some ways, it _has_ been. So much has happened in the years since her arrival on the First. While her time before she relocated to the Greatwood was spent furiously working to reverse the summoning and worrying for her friends, the aching for home passed as she delved deeper into the mysteries of this world. There was much to keep her occupied with the Night’s Blessed as they went about rebuilding their encampment and her role among them bent towards leadership; until one day she realized she could think of her old life without pain.

Ren, of course, obliges her interest. As she tells it, Lyse has hardly a moment of rest. Watching over the Reach while also fighting on the front lines is work enough for half a dozen people, but with the leaders being called back to their duties, she has taken on the added burden of keeping order over a portion of those troops as well. The Doman and Gridanian soldiers claimed her immediately, Ren shares with a laugh. Her various deeds in their respective lands had long garnered their respect, and her continued prowess in battle only served to enhance it.

It’s no less than her friend deserves, no less than she has _earned_.

“Goodness. It was rather hypocritical of her to order _you_ to rest.” How typical of Lyse. Running around worrying for the health of others without a hint of regard for her own. “I assume she’s pushing herself to the brink, just as she always does when she-”

She stops herself as the realization washes over her.

 _Just as she always does when she loses someone dear to her_.

Oh. Oh, Lyse.

Three years it may have been for _her_ , but to Lyse, the loss of the Scions is fresh on the heels of the loss of Conrad. Of her friends within the Reach. Of Papalymo, and Minfilia, and Moenbryda. They had attained victory after victory, it is true, but they came at costs that sometimes seemed too great to bear. Her own incapacitation at the ambush at the Reach had left a wound on Lyse’s soul that had scarce begun to heal before the Empire threatened war again.

_“Don’t you dare die on me, Y’shtola!”_

Waving away her friend’s concern at her sudden shift in mood, she takes a deep, steadying breath and shakes her head. “Do you intend to return to the Reach at any point?” When Ren answers that she does, she crosses her arms and scowls. “Then I shall send some potions with you. She always has trouble sleeping, in spite of the toll her work takes on her. And I’ve no doubt she has done her utmost to avoid bothering Orella for pain medications.”

Potions are a paltry attempt at an apology, and even poorer substitute for her presence, but they are all she can offer on such short notice. Simple as her life with the Blessed is, she would be hard-pressed to find a suitable gift for Lyse even with ample warning. Not that Lyse is particular about such gestures of kindness. Oftentimes, merely sharing a sweet is enough to brighten her friend’s mood.

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate them even more than she usually appreciates gifts. Though telling her that you were alive and well seemed all she truly wanted.”

Her brow furrows. “ _Telling_ her? Yourself? Did she not already know?”

Ren’s glowing form shifts into her customary “hand on her chin” pose. “...No. She assumes any missives were misplaced with other paperwork. If they were sent at all. Tataru has been busy, may the twelve have mercy on whichever poor soul she has dragged into the Scions now. If she entrusted any messages to Arenvald, well. I was _lucky_ to catch Lyse, and Arenvald is one of the only Scions left capable of investigating primal activity. Though he is stationed at the Reach, I don’t think they’ve spoken once since...before.”

Gods. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t _known_. After everything, of _all people_ , there is _no excuse_ for Lyse to be left in the dark! Why had Tataru, who so prides herself on her information gathering, been unable to spare even a _single_ missive detailing their conditions to the one member of the original Circle left on the Source? Oh, it’s understandable, if she would take but a moment to be rational, but never could she be when Lyse was involved.

Ren steps back, likely in response to the anger that must be visible on her face. “...Uh, perhaps a message with your potions would be-”

“You may come back in a bell,” she interrupts with a snarl, spinning on her heel and striding to her room with footsteps so forceful that some might consider her to be _stomping_. “Assist Runar in the meantime.”

“Ah, well. I was. ...Okay.”

She ignores the resigned acceptance of her order; barely hears it at all. The only thing on her mind is a memory from years ago, when she was recovering from the attack at the Reach.

_“Y’shtola, are you awake?”_

_“Typically, one_ knocks _to make that particular inquiry.”_

_“Oh, yeah. Sorry. My ears are still ringing from teleporting and I-”_

_“And what is so urgent that you decided to teleport despite an obviously questionable condition? Don’t_ dawdle _there. Come in and close the door. I’ve a potion to help relieve the side-effects.”_

_“There’s no emergency, really. I just wanted to give you an update while I had the downtime.”_

_“Well that was completely unnecessary. A message would have suffic-”_

_“No! ...No. You deserve better. You nearly_ died _for this mission. For_ me _. The least I can do is give you a personal report. Besides...you’re my friend. I worry about you, and want to make sure you’re okay. The toll is more than worth being with you.”_

_“You...fine. If you mean to stay, we may as well have dinner.”_

_“Whatever you want! I’m all yours!”_

Deserved better, she had said then. Perhaps in that day, it had been true, but never did she feel less deserving of Lyse’s friendship than at this moment.

**~The Source~**

“Oh! Well I _do_ like _you_. Will you just _look_ at that soul! Such fire!”

She blinks at the small red...thing fluttering around her, rambling about souls and flames and a bunch of other things that sound kind of flattering. It had appeared out of nowhere, more excited than a chocobo in a gysahl field and a hundred times friendlier.

“Um. Hello? Do you need some help?”

“How polite! And flexible of spirit and mind. Truly a rare trait among you mortals! How wonderful! To see such sights!”

“Uh. Thank you?”

The thing, which introduces itself as Feo Ul, a pixie of the First and ruler of the Fae Kingdom, continues rambling while it flutters around her room. Though startled, and still very confused, she finds it rather cute; especially when it announces it has a delivery. With a sparkle, a bag appears in her arms. It’s small, made out of dark leather. The feather decorations on the side are simple, but pretty, as are the engravings that line the top flap, but none of it explains why it is being sent to her, nor by whom. Sticking out of the side pocket, however, is a scroll, which she dutifully investigates first.

 _'If you intend to continue your reckless work pace, the_ very least _you can do is safeguard your health. I'm certain you recognize the potions enclosed…'_

The neat, looping letters are as familiar to her as her own handwriting is, and the actual message? Leave it to _Y'shtola_ to preface a message with a sound scolding for overworking herself. She can _hear_ the scowl in her friend’s voice, can picture the twitching of her ears and the inevitable sigh of exasperation.

Still. It’s a _present_. With a message! It’s more than she had ever hoped to receive, and her eyes quickly blur from the tears that gather. Relief, sadness, longing; they wrap around her heart like a vice, squeezing until it takes all she has to keep herself standing.

“You. You brought this for me?”

“As requested by my lovely sapling!”

She doesn’t know what that means, but clutching the bag to her chest, she resolves to find a way to repay Feo Ul for this precious gift.

**~The First~**

“The creatures have grown bold lately, and their numbers are increasing again. We may need to organize a culling soon.”

She manages to hold back a grimace. The Blessed are skilled enough warriors, but even they can be quickly overwhelmed by the beasts that call these woods home. Those damnable spiders in particular are a menace she would gladly be rid of given the opportunity. “Their territory is close to-”

Aether appears in her vision, scattered lights condensing into a form that appears with a faint chime. Tilting her head, she regards the familiar fae with curiosity.

“Your majesty. To what do we owe the honor?”

“You! The one whose eyes shine like the stars, she said! A delivery most precious!”

The stares of Runar and the others are heavy, though she is too surprised herself to pay them much attention. Eyes like stars? Had Ren been _drunk_ when she sent the fae to her? Because she can think of no other explanation for such a flirtatious description. “From...the Warrior of Light?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” Feo Ul pulses, its emotions tied so closely to its aether that she is nearly blinded from the intensity. “From the wildfire tempered by loss! By pain! A flame that promises freedom, promises _home_ and _hope_. Were her soul less a hero’s, she would make a most wonderful fae. Such a shame.”

The fae’s description is, on the surface, vague and borderline nonsensical as most fae are. Yet even so, her mind immediately draws a picture of such a soul, and comes to a single conclusion. “Lyse,” she whispers, affection bringing a smile to her lips.

Feo Ul confirms her suspicion with a twirl and a wave of her hand; the latter of which also serves to summon an item. Holding out her hand, she grabs the proffered gift. Gifts, actually, for it is a roll of paper wrapped with a string from which a crystal hangs. As the fae’s aether fades away, it shines in her vision.

_Freedom._

_Hope._

_Home._

_“No matter how difficult it is, how long it takes, I won’t give up!”_

She knows the aether contained within, even knows the very crystal that contains it. It’s the selfsame crystal that Lyse wore after shedding Yda’s name, and her aether that fills it.

“For a wonderful host who asked for nothing in return for her kindness, I deliver this to her dearest,” the fae sings. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, it is gone.

Only the startled shifting of the others reminds her that she is not alone, and though she attempts to pretend she is unaffected by the interruption, she is quite sure that she fails to fully suppress a blush. She is no stranger to compliments, but such things are remarkably different when coming from Lyse, who has no ulterior motive and wholly believes what she says. Granted, mostly because she has a tendency to spit out whatever runs through her mind without a care as to how others might interpret her words.

For a blessing, the meeting is ended quickly after that, the others sensing that she is impatient to read the note contained within. That faint feeling of _Lyse_ in her hand is too distracting. She had nearly forgotten how her aether looked to her vision, forgotten how its heat seeped into her own aether when she was near, easing her anxieties and pain. A single crystal cannot compare to the person herself, but after three years without, she drinks in the sight nonetheless. A flame indeed. Reds, oranges, and yellows, twisting together and sparking like fireworks. Warm and energetic, just as her smiles had been.

Though if she thinks about it, she can barely recall what _those_ look like either.

_Dear Y’shtola,_

_I. Well. I really don’t know what to say. I guess, first, thank you for the potions. Not that they’re the most important thing! But just, they’re why I’m writing, or something. You know what I mean! Anyway. I’ve been busy with the war and paperwork for the Reach and meetings with other leaders. It hasn’t been so long since you were taken, though long enough for me to get injured enough to be banned from the battlefield, and for me to finally return. Orella was close to throwing me out into battle personally, I think, but I can’t help that I get bored when I’m on bed rest!_

_Hien and Yugiri were injured as well, but they have since returned to Doma in order to heal. They haven’t returned, though he left his troops in my care. A country needs its king, after all, and Yugiri goes where he does, as his bodyguard. I have a little more freedom, being as I’m just a commander. If anything happens to_ me _, there are plenty of others who can take my position. But don’t worry. Rauhbahn seems to_ always _know when I’m starting to push past my limits and makes me rest. It’s uncanny, really. The war has reached a stalemate, but by this point, even small skirmishes are taking their toll. We’ve hardly recovered from the battle at Ala Mhigo, after all._

_There isn’t much else to say about that. While I feel as though something else is brewing, it isn’t a major catastrophe or anything. Not by Scion standards. I may be imagining it though, as none of the others seem concerned._

_Between your letter and Ren’s stories, I can tell that you’re happy where you are with those Night’s Blessed. I’m glad. You deserve that, and they must be special. What I wouldn’t give for a simple, peaceful life...but fighting to give others that reality is where my path led. And your battles with the Lightwardens! I thought I had heard everything when the Emperor announced that he wanted to cause half a dozen calamities in order to form a perfect race, but wow! I admit I was worried, but I should have known better. You and the others, you’re amazing, and have the Warrior of Light on your side. Light never stood a chance._

_Well. I’m sure you’ve enough people gushing over your stories and heroics at home, so I’m just going to finish by saying that I’m happy that you’re alive and safe. It’s presumptuous of me, maybe, but I sent my crystal necklace. I wouldn’t know what kind of book to give you, and your taste in clothes is way more particular than mine! I just thought you wouldn’t mind something to remind you of home. Not that I’m saying you get homesick! Or that Gyr Abania is home! Oh, gods. You know what I mean. It’s just. You know. Just in case._

_I’m sorry. I wish I could articulate it better. This is my one chance to send a message and I’m not doing it very well, am I?_

_Just. I. -_ **There are furious scribbles on the page, blotting out an entire section of the letter** \- _Whatever happens, I wish you well._

- **More furious scribbling** \- _Sincerely,_

_Lyse_

It isn’t until she hears something hit the page in her hands that she realizes that she’s crying, that her hands are shaking and her breath is coming out in small, painful gasps. With every word, she hears the nearly forgotten echo of her friend’s voice, remembers the nervous laugh and the way she stumbles over her words. She would be shifting with every word, waving her hands or rubbing her arm, blushing perhaps, or looking away and scratching her neck or chin.

Yet not all that wanted to be said, was, and she forces herself to focus her spell in order to read the ruined portions of the letter.

 _I miss you. When I heard you had collapsed, I felt my heart break. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t have any enemy to fight so I could bring you back. Just a war looming, and Zenos cutting me down like a gnat. Again. I failed to protect you, and couldn’t even protect myself. All I can do is work as hard as possible, fight with everything I have to protect those who have family and loved ones left. To spare them the pain I was experiencing yet again. I wish I could say that my fears have been settled, but even though I know you’re alive out there, it isn’t_ here _. It isn’t home, and you’ve never felt so far away. But you’re happy, maybe happier than you have been here, so that will give me comfort, should you not come back._

And

_I love you,_

The crystal, the letter. This isn't a present; it’s a potential _goodbye_. With time and space between them, she is as good as dead to the one who spends her days praying for her return.

To the one _she_ so easily locked away from her thoughts and heart when the pain became too much to bear.

Clutching the crystal to her heart, she sobs for the time, affection, and trust from Lyse that she has lost. That she has _broken_. Actions, not words have ever spoken louder to Lyse, and through her own, she fears she has hurt her friend in ways that, with the distance between them, she cannot hope to heal.


End file.
